


god's silly vassal

by mini_puffs



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Glitches, Minecraft, Minor Character Death, but like virtually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:26:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29065794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mini_puffs/pseuds/mini_puffs
Summary: “Wilbur Soot,” it says. It doesn’t seem to be speaking, yet Wilbur hears the words loud and clear amidst the static crackling from its body. “Player of games.”It raises a hand and another text box appears.YOU DIED!RESPAWN?Or: Wilbur learns something, even in the end.
Relationships: Jschlatt & Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot & Everyone, Wilbur Soot & Other(s)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 53





	god's silly vassal

**Author's Note:**

> hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii I promise i haven't vanished off the face of the earth i--
> 
> cw: deaths, mild gore, implied/referenced suicide

The End is much darker than he anticipated.

Everything around him is pitch black. Wilbur supposes he has Techno and Phil to thank for that. The latter he wholeheartedly expected, another one of the cheap lies he’d been conditioned to believe as he grew but as for Techno, he had a bit more faith. 

Then again, it was faith that got him here in the first place.

He stands. His jacket weighs him down and Wilbur pulls it closer as he walks, the darkness stretching on forever.

**YOU DIED!**

**RESPAWN?**

The message seems to follow him no matter where he goes. The white text is all that gives light to this never-ending abyss, and Wilbur’s found it more of a hindrance than a welcoming presence. He’s bitten his nails, hands dry and blistered in his attempts to distract himself from the words. He can’t get rid of it, just another nagging reminder that he can return whenever he wants yet refuses to. Villains don’t come back to the story after they’ve been defeated. Villains don’t come back once they’ve died. And even if he did, who would be there for his return?

This time, he walks straight into the text box. 

**RESPAWN?**

Wilbur grits his teeth and turns the other direction.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


He’s not alone. There are others, broken husks of people that once were floating by. None of them speak to him, dull eyes staring past him and into the void. Wilbur’s tried looking for what they see yet it’s simply nothingness.

None of them have a respawn button. Nor a name. Wilbur doubts he’d be able to recognize them even with one, their figures flickering in and out like a dying flame. When he blinks, strings of numbers appear in them, walls of 0’s and 1’s, before it returns to a blank slate.

“Hello,” he tries. “Hello there.”

This ghost turns to him. There’s a swirl of white particles, static ringing in his ears as light emanates from them and Wilbur can’t make out who it is, images of people flashing through. He can make out a few of the obvious ones. Dream. Fundy. Everybody he knows before it settles on simply a ball of bright light, then into a corporeal form.

“Wilbur Soot,” it says. It doesn’t seem to be speaking, yet Wilbur hears the words loud and clear amidst the static crackling from its body. “Player of games.”

It raises a hand and another text box appears.

**YOU DIED!**

**RESPAWN?**

Wilbur lunges, only for the figure to disappear in a flurry of sparks. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“So you’ve seen that thing too?” 

Schlatt is the only source of company he’s got, and Wilbur shrugs. He hasn’t exactly forgiven him for the presidency and election scandal but at the same time, he’s grateful because without him he would’ve never discovered this part of himself. Or maybe because the void is lonely and he’s desperate for any human interaction.

(If they can even be considered human, after everything.)

“Yeah,” Wilbur says. Schlatt tosses him a bottle of whiskey that he catches with ease, grimacing at the smell before downing it. He’s suddenly aware that he can’t remember the last time he’s eaten or drank. Trivial needs like that don’t seem to apply in the void, anyway. “Disappeared before I could talk to it.”

“Ah, that’s the fucker.” Schlatt coughs, doubling over and Wilbur waits a few moments before the fit ends. “It showed you the box, right?”

“The respawn one?”

“Nah, the other one.” Before Wilbur can ask, Schlatt dissolves into another coughing fit, clutching at his chest this time. Repercussions of their death haunt them, one more so than the other. All Wilbur has to do is pull out the sword whenever it appears in his stomach. “The--what’s it--something about loading a world or something.”

“Oh.” A pause. “Did you--”

“Hell no, you think I’m fucking stupid?!” Schlatt scoffs and takes another swig of alcohol. How he has it will forever remain a mystery, but Wilbur likes to think of it as a narrative coincidence. “It’s your move, by the way,” he says, gesturing to the chessboard in front of them.

Wilbur moves his piece without tearing his gaze from him. “Checkmate,” he says, and grabs a bottle for his victory.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Sometime around the hundredth respawn box, more text boxes appear, but this time bearing a different question.

**LOAD WORLD?**

“Ah, there it is,” Schlatt says, peering at the box beside him. “Get used to it,” he warns. “Once they start, they don’t ever go away. Believe me--I want it gone more than I have wanted you gone.”

Wilbur ignores the jab. “Should I?” He asks, hand hovering over the screen.

Schlatt glares at him. “Why the hell you askin’ me?”

With a heavy sigh, Wilbur taps the message.

  
  
  


**LOADING WORLD…**

**//**

**BUILDING TERRAIN…**

“Fundy! Get back here!”

Laughter. A blur of orange darts past him against the dark oak of the ship deck. The sun beats down on his back and Wilbur blocks it with a hand as he turns around in search. “Fundy!” He calls. 

“You can stop yelling,” Sally says, placing a hand on his shoulder. Wilbur can practically taste the saltwater, the smell of the ocean stronger whenever she arrives. “He’s just playing. Kid’s never seen a ship before.”

He sighs and takes her hand. “Yeah, yeah, but--”

“Stop worrying,” she scolds. With her free hand, Sally pinches his cheek. It doesn’t hurt but Wilbur complains anyway which she replies to with a swift kick to his shins. The ship rocks underneath their feet despite already being anchored to the port, and flocks of seagulls squawk at them overhead. “Everything’s fine. I’m not going anywhere. It’s all smooth sailing from here.” 

“Pretty ironic, seeing as we’re staying on land,” he points out. She laughs, and it floats through the sea breeze.

“Of course you’d say that.” Tugging on his arm, she nods towards the port where a few familiar faces are. Tubbo and Tommy cheer and nearly trip face-first into the water on their way to greet them. Eret watches them with a smile while Niki laughs and helps them up. “Come on, let’s go. Our home’s not gonna build itself.”

**//**

**GAME MENU**

**//**

**SAVE AND QUIT**

**//**

**[ SAVE AND QUIT ]**

**//**

**LOADING...**

**//**

  
  
  


“I just saw--”

Wilbur stops. He’s alone, all traces of the chess game and bottles gone like the man in question. The respawn box pops up in front of him as usual, along with a second box.

**LOAD WORLD?**

He doesn’t have a choice, it seems. It takes very little time for him to press the ‘yes’ with nobody to judge. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**GENERATING WORLD…**

**//**

“Techno.”

No reply.

“Techno.”

A grunt.

“Technoblade.”

Two grunts. Wilbur picks up a spare potato and chucks it at the back of his head, dirt and all. That, if anything, gets him to finally turn around and stare at him. 

“Huh?” Techno drops his shovel, rubbing at the back of his head. His sun hat falls off his head, the ends of his braid undone and covered in mud. Wilbur braided it last night before he left and from his current state, it seems like he’s been in the fields since then. 

“I have been calling your name for five minutes,” he says. Techno’s eyes widen but the rest of his face remains impassive. 

“Dang, I was going for ten.”

Wilbur scoffs and tosses another potato in. This one Techno catches with ease. “Quit, wastin’ my crops,” he says, voice laced with exhaustion but the glint in his eyes tells him that he’s awake enough to not keel over any minute. 

“Spar with me.” Techno stares and turns back around. Years of enduring this cold treatment have made Wilbur immune. “Technoblade, c’mon.” He pokes and prods at the ice wall until the cracks show. “We haven’t sparred since we were kids.” 

“I wonder why,” Techno says dryly. Over his shoulder, Wilbur can make out a blur of blond as Phil ties two horses to a fence post, Tubbo and Tommy sitting on them and chattering. 

“Phil knows how to take care of the farm, right?” Techno nods, before quickly shaking his head but it’s too late because now Wilbur grins. “Tommy and Tubbo would be happy to watch us fight,” he sing-songs.

“Can’t we bully them instead?” Running a hand through his hair, Techno blinks as he realizes his hat is gone and Wilbur hands it to him while they walk towards them. 

“Sure, why not.”

“Bully who?” Tommy demands once they arrive. “Who are we bullying?”

Wilbur doesn’t have to look at Techno to know that he’s grinning. “You,” the two of them both chorus, and Tommy screeches as they chase after him, laughter ringing out all through the fields.

**//**

**GAME MENU**

**//**

**[ SAVE AND QUIT ]**

**//**

**LOADING…**

**//**

  
  
  
  


_Just one more,_ Wilbur thinks as the next box appears. After all, two is hardly a satisfying number. Terrible things come in twos: twins, sides of war, tempos, and the list goes on. His hands, two, keep trembling as he hits the screen, ignoring a second pair waving frantically at him. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**GENERATING WORLD…**

**//**

The walls of L'manberg are thin on the inside. Outer walls must be thick and strong to uphold a kingdom, keep it standing, show its power even when its all ended and that is just what L’manberg is. Inside walls, however, have nothing to protect but secrets, and it’s secrets that can lead to a country’s downfall. There’s screaming to the west walls and Wilbur is in the room in an instant, coming across the sight of his son, Niki, Tubbo, and Tommy on the floor of the kitchen covered in flour.

Tommy is the first to point fingers. “I--well--now I know this looks bad but it wasn’t me--” A rolling pin hits the back of his head. _“Shit--”_

Fundy and Tubbo snort and that’s just enough to rile Tommy up, him grabbing the pin and yelling at them. Niki laughs, and to Wilbur she hands him a basket of bread, untouched by the demons in the kitchen. The smell is enough to make his mouth water, warm and right out of the oven. “I was trying to teach them,” she explains, ducking as a handful of flour flies past her head. It hits Tubbo right in the jaw. “How to make it. You can see how that’s going.”

“I think it’s alright.” Wilbur bites into the bread. Light and airy. Perfect. “The bread and this.”

She beams. “Thank you.”

“What brought this on, anyway?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Niki waves a hand, her smile growing brighter as sunlight streams in through the windows. She twirls a strand of her hair. “I was just thinking, since L'manberg is our home and all, that we should do things together. As a country. As a family.”

“Family,” Wilbur echoes, voice sounding faint. Did he account for that in his narrative? “Yeah.”

**//**

**CONTINUE?**

**//**

**LOADING WORLD…**

**//**

“Wilbur,” Eret says, one afternoon, pulling him aside. “I have something to tell you.”

Betrayal. Dream. Traitor. Wilbur listens intently, nodding and making note of everything. They enter the Final Control Room as planned but when the walls shift, they’re ready. Dream coughs, kneeling on the floor as Tommy jeers at him, a sword pointed right at his throat. Bodies of his so-called comrades lie still on the floor and his mask is chopped in two, one side painted white and the other painted in blood. 

“Eret,” he grits out, breathing heavy. He’ll be dead soon. The thought shouldn’t make Wilbur as giddy as it should but hey, he’s deserved it. They struck first, and all’s fair in love and war. “We _trusted_ you.”

“Yeah, well look where that got you, you fucking bastard--”

“Tommy,” Wilbur warns, and he shuts up. 

Eret steps forward, pushing his sunglasses up. Hiding his eyes. A good move.

“It was never meant to be,” he declares, and thrusts his sword right through Dream’s head, cutting the mask cleanly in two and leaving the god and his subjects for dead. 

**//**

**[ SAVE AND QUIT ]**

**//**

**LOADING…**

**//**

  
  
  
  
  


“Hey, hey, look at me, not the fucking screen!”

“You’re a shit father,” Wilbur remarks, still not looking at him. L’manberg, L’manberg--that’s the first time he’s seen it in the worlds, _his_ worlds, now that he thinks about it, writing new stories and new finales to his unfinished symphony, this time with new pieces of a melody. It’s oddly addicting, watching the new plotlines unfold like some sort of _god._ How foolish he had been, offering himself up to Dream when he could be one all along. 

Something flies past his head. Wilbur looks up to meet Schlatt’s pissed off glare, bloodshot eyes and broken horns. His hair looks more messed up from the last time he’d seen him. 

“Right back at you,” he snarls. “Get your head out of the, out of your ass, Wilbur. It took me fucking weeks to find you and you’re doing what, playing video games?”

A long time ago, Wilbur would’ve laughed and fired a retort back, but right now he turns back to the screen. Useless conversation. He has a story to get back to. Characters.

“Do you think they miss us?” He ponders aloud, getting Schlatt to cut himself off mid-rant.

Schlatt stares at him like he’s announced he’s respawning. _“What.”_

“I mean, I believe I have a copy of myself--a ghost, if you will--back with them.“ He shrugs. “I don’t know about you.” 

Whatever Schlatt has to say to that, Wilbur doesn’t care because he loads the next world. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**//**

**GENERATING WORLD…**

**//**

“Fundy?”

The end of Fundy’s tail wags and Wilbur stifles a laugh as his son turns around to glare at him, body language betraying his supposed animosity.

“Wil-bur,” Tommy complains, coming to his aid. “We were telling him about the rules.”

“Rules?” Wilbur stares. Behind his back, Tommy slips something into Tubbo’s hand, something that looks suspiciously like vinyl. He pretends not to notice. “What rules?”

“Well, they were telling me before you came,” Fundy says. He crosses his arms over his chest. “Tommy, continue.”

“Gladly. Where was I? Ah yes, rule number one, don’t trust men—wait no, that was rule number two—“

“That’s not even a rule in the first place!” Fundy sighs and drags a hand down his face. His hat almost falls off but he adjusts it in time. “These are more like statements!” Argument? No, normal banter. Wilbur’s written and seen enough of these to know. “Rules are more like ‘don’t do X’ or—“

“Don’t do men!” Tubbo yells, triumphant. They all dissolve into laughter, and Wilbur takes it as his cue to leave.

**//**

**[ SAVE AND QUIT ]**

**//**

**LOADING...**

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**GENERATING WORLD…**

**//**

Peering down at the people below, Wilbur swings his feet back and forth. They’re invisible, so it’s not like it’ll matter, but his heart races whenever somebody looks up at the building during the festival. Nobody dares look up now, all eyes focused on the center with Tubbo and Techno both trapped, Schlatt’s booming laughter ringing out the festival. 

“...too far, went too far,” he hears Tommy mutter.

“Sorry?” 

Tommy glares at him. Right, he forgot. Wilbur smiles and looks back to watching the fiasco unfold.

“Kill him now!” Schlatt yells. Quackity shakes and Techno nearly drops his firework launcher. “On this fucking stage! Do it, Techno!”

Everyone in the crowd trembles in fear. Wilbur suppresses a yawn. How boring. A drop of water hits his forehead and Wilbur outstretches his arms, feeling the beginnings of rain. Tommy squawks from behind him and Wilbur’s about to tell him to be silent when he hears a loud “GET THEM!” as Techno barrels right into him, Tubbo unconscious on his back. 

Tommy yells and scrambles to help them up while out of the corner of his eye, Wilbur can make out Techno firing fireworks to the crowd. Screams tell him all he needs to know. 

“See ya later, losers!” Techno throws his hand back and laughs, a firework bursting in the air above them as a flurry of red and blue sparks rain down. 

“Technoblade!” Wilbur eyes a trident embedded into the wood floor and tosses it to him. 

“Let’s go!” Despite Tommy’s attempts, Tubbo doesn’t wake up. There’s an angry red mark on his forehead from where he must’ve hit the iron bars on his cage in their escape. Oh dear. It’ll bruise. Better that than dead, Wilbur supposes, sighing and gesturing for Techno who picks up his body like a sack of potatoes.

“We’ll meet you there,” Wilbur tells him. Techno nods. Tommy doesn’t say a word, but Wilbur can tell what he’s thinking anyway. “Thanks—you’re more than the Blade, Techno.” 

**//**

**[ SAVE AND QUIT ]**

**//**

**LOADING…**

**//**

  
  
  
  
  


“I just saw you,” Wilbur says, looking up. Schlatt makes a half-hearted grunt at that. “The festival, but--”

“You keep messing around with that thing and it’ll kill you,” he warns. He’s lying on his back, eyes shut and hands crossed over his chest like a corpse. 

Wilbur raises a brow. They’re already dead. 

“Not like that.” Schlatt cracks an eye open to give him a done stare. “I lied, y’know,” he says, trying to sit up and falling back down as his back gives out. Coughing fits have worsened, Wilbur notes. He hasn’t heard any, or that’s because he’s been too engrossed in the other timelines. “I’ve seen them. The worlds. You get pulled back to a world where nothing really matters, a world where you’re actually happy. Where you get a happy ending. Well, news flash motherfucker,” this time he actually succeeds in sitting up and points a finger at him, “that ain’t ever gonna happen. None of that shit’s real.”

_Canon. None of it’s canon._

Wilbur digs his nails into the palms of his hands and tries not to focus on Schlatt’s intense gaze as he loads another save. 

It doesn’t matter. 

The best endings aren’t, anyway.

“Why do you care?” He asks, the screen flickering as it registers the command. “What brought on this sudden change of heart?”

He can see Schlatt’s grin in the reflection of the screen. “Death,” Schlatt answers. His mirthless laugh is the last thing Wilbur hears before the screen loads.

  
  
  
  


**//**

**GENERATING WORLD…**

**//**

Wilbur has his eyes closed but he can hear Phil coming closer, pulling him away from the debris and wreckage he’s caused, what he’s done, for the sake of L'manberg, the country, _his_ country—

“Kill me,” he murmurs, just as a sword clatters to the floor. _No._ _“Kill me!”_

He screams, voice ragged and throat hoarse before something hits him across the face, a sharp sting on his cheek which means it’s not the sword’s blade he’s longed to have stabbed through his stomach, and collapses on the stone. When he opens his eyes, Phil is glaring at him with tears glistening on his face.

“You’re my son,” he says slowly, like he’s approaching a frightened animal, careful for them not to bite yet careful for them to know he means no harm. Wilbur wants to scream and kick him away but his body doesn’t comply, exhausted from the months worth of fighting a losing battle. “You’re my son.” _No._

Phil extends a hand to him, clean of blood. Wilbur stares at his, covered in ash and dust, and Phil grabs it and hauls him up.

“Look what I’ve done,” Wilbur whispers, but he doesn’t need to, because Phil is looking at L’manberg anyway.

They step on to a new day. 

**//**

**[ SAVE AND QUIT ]**

**//**

**LOADING…**

**//**

  
  
  
  


“You’re quiet.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Wilbur mutters. He wipes off the tear stains on the screen. Schlatt doesn’t miss this, sitting half-up with a sneer.

“Are you crying? No way, you’re actually fucking--what happened? Thought you were looking at different happy endings and stuff, how--”

**ERROR**

**//**

**USER MESSAGE: HELLO FRIENDS!**

**//**

**ERROR**

They both jolt. The pop up flickers and disappears in a blink, leaving them both stranded. 

“Did you break it?” Schlatt’s voice is way too eager. He stands up and claps Wilbur on the back, laughing. Wilbur shoves him back down before he hacks up another lung. “No way--holy shit! You did! Way to go, Wilbur--”

“Yeah well--”

The next message that pops up cuts them both off.

**LOAD WORLD 2?**

Schlatt doesn’t argue when Wilbur presses ‘yes’.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**LOADING WORLD**

**//**

**BUILDING TERRAIN**

**//**

**##^^16%**

**//**

A cave. Quackity and Technoblade are fighting, the latter with a pickaxe and back pressed against the wall. Quackity seizes the opportunity to pry the pick out of his hands and true to his word, puts it right through the Blade’s teeth. Techno struggles for a few seconds, trying to pull the axe out and in that moment Quackity grabs his axe and stabs it right through his gut. 

Techno goes limp. Nobody speaks, not even Wilbur, but this save must not include him so it’s not like it would’ve mattered anyway. He watches Quackity breathe heavily, his apron and clothes drenched in blood. 

“I got him.” Of fucking course he did, nobody is infallible. Quackity kneels, dropping the weapons and dissolving into manic laughter. Familiar. He’s been there before. “I got him! I killed Technoblade! Guys! You’ve gotta c’mere--”

Carl neighs. Quackity must not notice as he rattles on, words smearing into each other like the blood splatters on the stone wall. Oh dear. Wilbur wishes he were there, for Friend would be delighted at having a new friend. 

**//**

**LOADING WORLD…**

**//**

**3**

**//**

**333#F^^**

**//**

“I thought I was on house arrest?”

“Change of plans,” Fundy tells Phil, leading him to an iron cage in the middle of a stage. Above it, an anvil swings precariously in the wind, a thin rope attached to it. Phil doesn’t seem too bothered from what Wilbur can see as he doesn’t argue, letting the child soldiers lock him in. 

“Huh.”

Friend cries for attention. Wilbur tears his eyes from the soon-to-be-execution and pets his head to calm him down. Honestly, he’s very compassionate, a good choice in friends.

“Hey!”

There’s a scream and a loud and heavy _clang,_ the crunch of bones and metallic stench of blood filling the air. Wilbur turns Friend’s head away from the carnage with a heavy sigh.

**GAME MENU**

**//**

**[ SAVE AND QUIT ]**

**//**

**ERROR**

**//**

**LOADING WORLD…**

**//**

**2**

**//**

**2FD2$##**

**//**

“Let me out!”

Tubbo screams, banging on the walls. His fists are bruised purple like the obsidian and he keeps going for a few more minutes before he collapses in his cell, broken sobs resonating within. The compass he made for him points stubbornly past the walls and Tubbo traces a finger around the edges. 

“I’m president,” Tubbo sniffs, standing up. “This is my fault. I have to get out of here myself.”

The moment he does, the compass necklace clatters to the ground and falls apart. Wilbur frowns although Tubbo can’t see him—he never built for it to break. Tubbo doesn’t move, staring at the pieces in shock.

“Surely not…”

Wilbur lets him be. 

**[ SAVE AND QUIT ]**

**//**

**ERROR**

**//**

**LOADING WORLD..**

**//**

**1**

**//**

**FR1!^^%**

**//**

For the Nether, everything’s cold. Wilbur shivers and continues walking, each step sending the rocks over the edge as he crouches by the cliff. 

A body stares up at him from the lava. Or at least he hopes it’s a body, because the tattered red and white shirt is something he can’t imagine being on any Pigman or Ghast. That’s just not how they function. Not how they’re written. Lava keeps engulfing the body, bits of skin swelling and bursting like soup beginning to boil. Wilbur glances to his left as a few items have been left scattered around. 

“I suppose I’ll be taking this back,” Wilbur says into the void. “I’m afraid it’s broken now, anyway.” He pockets the compass and leaves. 

**[ SAVE AND QUIT ]**

**//**

**ERROR**

**//**

**L0ADING W0RLD…**

**//**

**0**

**//**

**##0%^**

**//**

Rubble.

He tastes the ash in his throat and coughs it out, swatting away dust as he walks along the debris of L’manberg. Dried blood on the grass and stone, a mangled hand clutching a broken shield. It’s split right in two, right between the X’s. What a pity. What a shame. He picks it up and shrugs the dead body off it, carrying it to a tree stump surrounded by ash. It’s like a treehouse—piling one corpse on top of a soon to be one, and he claps his hands at his creation. 

**GAME MENU**

**//**

**[ SAVE AND QUIT ]**

**//**

**LOADING…**

**//**

  
  
  
  


“Where’s the next one?” 

His own voice echoes back to him. Pulling his beanie over his ears, Wilbur repeats the question, hands hovering in the air, ready to hit the screens. “Where’s the next one?”

Happy worlds--bullshit. Wilbur drags a hand down his face, head ringing with a surge of new memories. Friend. Blue. When he blinks, he’s on the floor staring back at version of himself with a vivid smile and lifeless complexion, yellow sweater and a blue sheep next to him. There’s nobody else around them. Schlatt is gone, no signs of other ghosts either. 

His ghost smiles and waves at him, pointing up as a message appears.

**ERROR**

**//**

**USER MESSAGE: THINGS ARE GONNA CHANGE**

**//**

**ERROR**

**//**

**USER NOT FOUND**

**//**

**ERROR**

**//**

**LOAD WORLD 3?**

  
  
  


**LOADING WORLD…**

**//**

**GENERATING TERRAIN…**

**//**

**ERROR**

**//**

**PLAYER NOT FOUND**

**//**

**3RROR**

**//**

**3RR0R**

**//**

The End is much brighter than he anticipated.

Everything around him is white. Millions of messages and screens pop up around him, each one a new save file waiting to be loaded or another demand of respawning. Ghostbur blinks several times to decrease the incoming headache from the bright lights, room and messages spinning from under his feet. When he opens his eyes, there’s none left. Just him and the void.

“It’s not a mistake, if that’s what you’re thinking,” a voice says, causing him to jump.

A duplicate of himself walks up. Or at least that’s what Ghostbur hopes he is. This one’s face is paler than his, hollow sunken eyes staring right through him, somehow more ghastly despite him being the one that’s dead.

Dead.

“Why am I here?” He asks, digging his nails into the sides of his sweater. 

The other Wilbur shrugs as he looks away. “You already know. Do you want me to spell it out for you?”

He shakes his head, a few threads of yarn falling away from his red beanie. The other Wilbur sighs. “Do you see it?”

“See what?” Ghostbur asks, tilting his head to the side. Other Wilbur points behind him but when he turns there’s nothing there. “Sorry, I don’t—“

“Respawn,” he says. Ghostbur tilts his head again. Oh dear, is this really himself— “Can’t you respawn?”

“There’s nothing..?”

“Load something?”

“No?” Ghostbur stares at the screen past them. “You could use those--”

“No,” Wilbur snaps. Ghostbur shuts his mouth with a click and lets the silence wash over them like the streams of code trickling from the ceiling. It feels like hours when Wilbur speaks again. “How did you do it?”

“Do what?”

Wilbur shakes his head. “The messages. Coming here."

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” is Ghostbur’s cheery answer.

Wilbur stares at him, expression unreadable. For a split second, Ghostbur expects him to rush forward and hurt him or storm off into the other direction, but his gaze drifts to something past him that makes him relax.

“I see.”

See what? Ghostbur doesn’t know, doesn’t have a clue as to what he’s talking about. Odd, but nothing new. He never knows, never understands, never _remembers--_

“I’ll be going now,” Ghostbur tells him. Wilbur nods slowly, eyes glazed. “It was nice meeting you, Alivebur. You’re not as bad as everyone said you were.”

Wilbur smiles and laughs with no humor. “They really said that?” 

“Unfortunately.” Ghostbur tries to smile himself but his body doesn’t seem to comply. He can’t look anywhere else but his past self. “I’m very sorry. See you soon.”

**ERROR**

**//**

**USER NOT FOUND**

**//**

**ERROR**

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**//**

**ERROR**

**//**

The End doesn’t stretch on forever. 

Wilbur watches as his ghost fades into nothingness and walks past him, past the stream of text boxes and code, past what he once thought was the never-ending void, hitting the message and smiling as the room shifts into a white hallway with a single door at the end of it. He walks the opposite direction.

A figure waits for him. Strings of numbers float around them rather than in, the rest of their body obscured by a long red cloak. They’re shorter than him once he’s near enough to see, and they remove their hood upon greeting. 

“Hello,” Wilbur says like before. “Hello there.”

The girl smiles. “Wilbur Soot,” she says. She’s wearing a green and white bucket hat, tacky sunglasses perched on top. White ribbons keep her hair tied back in a ponytail which she tosses back over a grey hoodie. “We’ve been watching you.”

Gesturing behind her, she raises a hand for a message to appear and offers it to him.

**YOU DIED!**

**RESPAWN?**

“I’ve already said no.” He steps back. “I can’t.” He _shouldn’t._ “I’m not a hero.”

The girl stares at him, eyes wide. She’s young, probably not any older than Tommy or Tubbo. “You were chosen by _god,_ were you not?”

A smiley face mask appears on her face. Wilbur blinks and it’s gone as quickly as it came. “I was,” he agrees. “But I’m nothing more than his silly vassal.”

“Before, yes.” Dozens of screens pop up, each displaying the alternate saves he’d seen. Lived through, if it even was for a moment. She stares at him. “But now? Were you one in these?”

“They’re not--”

“--canon,” she finishes. She snickers, and it echoes throughout the hall like there’s multiple of her, all talking to him and laughing. “But…”

“The best endings aren’t,” Wilbur echoes. He’s smiling now, despite it all. “You know, some of those didn’t have happy endings.”

She grins. “Then go write them one.” She outstretches a hand with a new message displayed on the screen. “You’re Wilbur Soot. Make us a place where men can go and emancipate. You can keep your unfinished symphony forever unfinished, but that doesn’t mean you can’t write a new one.”

The message flickers.

**DELETE WORLD PERMANENTLY?**

Wilbur rolls his sleeves down. “Thank you,” he says quietly. 

“No.” He looks up and there isn’t just one person now but dozens, hundreds, filling the space behind her, all smiling and cheering him on. “Thank you.”

**DELETE WORLD PERMANENTLY?**

**YES NO**

**DELETE WORLD PERMANENTLY?**

**[ YES ] NO**

**ARE YOU SURE? THIS WORLD WILL BE LOST FOREVER. (A LONG TIME!)**

**YES NO**

**ARE YOU SURE? THIS WORLD WILL BE LOST FOREVER. (A LONG TIME!)**

**[ YES ] NO**

**DELETING WORLD...**

**THIS WORLD HAS BEEN DELETED.**

**USER MESSAGE: IT WAS NEVER MEANT TO BE**

**GOODBYE, WILBURSOOT.**

**...**

**CREATE NEW WORLD?**


End file.
